Homecoming
by Iguy
Summary: Luka and Vukovar, fifteen years after the war. Set in Season thirteen.
1. Chapter 1

1.

Vukovar is passing in front of his sight.

Vukovar. Nothing else. Vukovar, into his tired eyes; into his memories, Vukovar.

----

"_I need to go"_

_She looks__ at him, confused._

"_I need to. Can you understand?"_

_No, she can't__. What changed in his soul? What changed a situation which has been perfect till that moment?_

"_But…"_

_A finger on her lips, the exhausted sight of a man alone in front of his destiny. "Please, don't do it. I need to go"_

_----_

Little bumps in the street. His stomach going up and down. It's not because of the road, not only. It's Vukovar, and everything it means.

His town, their town, the fixed souvenir of the past, the fixed souvenir of the time when they belonged to him, the fixed souvenir of her. Her and forever. Forever, forever it was a promise. He closes his eyes, he doesn't want to see, but he sees.

----

"_I love you"_

_Smile, eyes down, embarrassment._

"_Will you follow me?"_

"_Till the end of the earth"_

_----_

And Vukovar was the end of the earth. And her, and them and all the rest. Till the end of the earth, forever. She kept her promise.

Another bump in the road, painful memory of all the things happened later. Ramshackle houses, ruined roofs, a dog, sat under a tree, follows tiredly the passing bus. Their eyes meet for a second, and man and dog, for a second only, are on the same wave length. The dog understands him, its eyes know all about it.

----

"_When will you come back?"_

_He looks down, searching for an answer in the white and anonymous tiles. But he knows, he can't give her an answer, the answer doesn't exist._

"_You'll come back, won't you?"_

_He raises his eyes__. He holds her. How he's able to love her so deeply considering the whole situation it's still a mystery._

"_Luka…", his name on her lips tastes as tears and pain. He shivers._

"_I love you"_

_He kisses her, fixing in his mind her lips, her scent, her skin, her. And her eyes, her eyes too, he wants to bring them with him. And he knows, their hurtful and accusing sight will follow him in Vukovar, the end of the earth, but it's all right. Promises, promises, another one broken._

_He bends slightly, picks up his luggage, strokes her cheek, turns around and forces himself to step away._

_----_

The sunset. Orange sun, its dying light is hitting directly his green eyes. Deep sigh. And Vukovar, still there. A living town, which is persecuting him. Vukovar. Gone time, decisions taken.

----

"_Vukovar? But it's so far away from here"_

"_You always say your mom is driving you crazy…", smile. Crossing sights, understanding. Till the end of the earth, it was the promise._

_He takes her hand feeling her fingers interlacing with his own. Her blue eyes are shining, so luminous and living._

"_When will we leave?"_

_----_

And now, now it's no more a leaving moment, but an arrival moment. Vukovar seems smiling at him, sly. Vukovar is waiting for him.

Luka feels sick. He doesn't know if it's ready. It will be a war, the last one, and there'll be one winner only.

The doors of the bus are closing behind his back. The sunset is over. By now, he's facing the night.

A war, it has been always that way. A war, and Vukovar.


	2. Chapter 2

Last time I forgot one important thing: The characters are not mine.

This story is dedicated to Lavy, who's always obliged to read all my creations.

2.

The night. Dark, silent and menacing.

The night is always the same, it never changes. The night. And Vukovar.

He cocks his head slightly, the sight fixed in front of him, trying hard to see, as if he has been already seeing enough.

Hurting himself. The thing he can do better.

----

"_Dad…"_

_White ghost on the threshold, barefoot, trembling voice._

"_It's dark…I'm afraid…"_

_Broken voice. How is he supposed to resist, how?_

_Understanding eyes, a little smile on his lips. She has already won but she doesn't know yet. She still doesn't know she's going to win always. Always, even when there will be nothing more to win. Always._

"_Come here, baby"_

_Running feet, sheets in movement, warm. Her soft skin._

_----_

Long sigh. He steps away from the window. Ordinary hotel room, like the millionth ones he has already seen, frequented and lived in. Who knows what all those rooms have to tell. Who knows what that Vukovar room would tell. Their common point: sadness and melancholy. Places built for short stays, places built to forget. Rooms. Hotels. Monotony.

The telephone is exactly how he has expected it to be: white, heavy and old. Usual useless thought concerning the high price of an eventual call. His finger follows lightly the receiver. He closes his eyes.

----

"_Can I call you?"_

_It's one of the few times she feels the need to ask him the permission to do something. His hearth misses a beat._

"_I'll call you", his voice is trembling, how is he ever able to tell her such things? "Don't worry about me"_

_She touches his__ opened luggage, as if she wants to leave something belonging to her in it. She sits on the bed. How is she supposed to not worry?_

"_Luka…"_

_Lost sight, pale feature, dark circles under his eyes. As if something is devouring him from the inside. Suddenly, Vukovar._

_Choked sigh. His exhausted hand passing again over his tired eyes._

"_But what has been?"_

_He escapes her question, as usual._

"_I need to leave in thirty minutes"_

"_I'll give you a lift"_

_Silence. A large lump in his throat._

_----_

The sickness raises suddenly. He runs to the bathroom. He lets himself fall in front of the toilet. Retching. He puts his head against the bathtub, staring at the pale yellow ceiling. He's shivering, his body drained. He can't sleep anymore.

What has been?

Why?

Why now?

Vukovar stands still and inscrutable. He blacks out slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all. I hope this isn't too confusing. _

3.

Fear. Shivering. Eyes wide. Sweat.

Nightmare. And Vukovar. Into his shaken mind the two things have the same meaning. Nightmare. And Vukovar. Yet there has been a time when he loved Vukovar. A time when he stared happily at the slow flowing Danube. That time has existed, he is sure about it.

He sits on the bed, his head void. He's still nauseated. He fears he'll be forever nauseated. It's still dark, outside. It seems impossible to him, but the night seems to be never-ending. Maybe it's a normal condition in Vukovar, never-ending night and nightmares and fear. And memories. Memories, as if all other things aren't already enough.

---

"_Luka…", someone is shaken him awake._

"_Mmmm…", he is tired. The lessons, the hospital, he doesn't want to wake up. He tries to change position._

"_Luka!", louder now, with insistence. "Marko's crying"_

_As soon as she says it, Luka hears the baby's cries piercing his mind. He opens his eyes. Pleading sight. No reaction. She is a sphinx: "C'mon, it's your turn. Go to see why he's crying, it's not feeding time"_

_The baby looks at him when he enters his room. He sighs deeply and starts screaming again. Luka picks him up. He checks on his diaper, but it's still clean. He cuddles him for a while, his little fists against his neck. Few minutes later Marko falls asleep._

"_What did he have?"_

"_Nothing serious. Maybe it was just a nightmare"_

_---_

Maybe it was just a nightmare. Nothing serious when you have someone ready to console you, ready to stroke your hair, ready to hold you. But when you're totally alone it's a completely different story.

He closes his eyes. He feels unreal. He thinks at Chicago, how can he not? The hate for himself grows.

---

"_Do you think he's dreaming?", her voice is hopeful._

_Luka looks carefully. He feels his heart beating strong in his chest, he feels alive. He is sure when he answers: "Of course he is. Just look at his peaceful expression"_

_Luka's head is leant against Abby's, he can smell her hair, her skin. It's intoxicating._

"_You know what? Joe has your expression while he's sleeping. He's so beautiful"_

"_It's not only my own expression…it's our expressions combined. He's us, but at the same time he's a completely different person"_

_She looks at him, confused: "Sometimes you leave me totally clueless"_

_He laughs softly. He's happy. He's whole._

_---_

Chicago.

Vukovar.

He shouldn't have left, but he couldn't stay. Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens for a reason.

He's still shivering. He tries to stand but fails. His legs are paralyzed. His muscles don't move anymore. He's trapped, he can't move. He is afraid. He knows he's going to die, he's mathematically sure.

Maybe Vukovar is the right place. The city is there, in front of his eyes. He knows he's right.

He's going to die, and it's going to happen in Vukovar. The circle is going to be closed, and it's the perfect way to close it.

And Vukovar, out there, charming and fascinating town, is calling him. It's calling him, but it doesn't answer him.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"Some time ago there was a man, here"

Tired eyes, he is only partially interested in the story the old woman next to him is saying.

Park. Bench. A little sun. it's more than enough to find the courage to start speaking to a foreigner. A simple deed, made only to forget loneliness. Even if it's only for a little.

"During the war, I mean. A man"

It's strange but Luka feels the nervousness growing. He's giving all his attention to the lady now.

"He was a doctor…it's a beautiful story, you know? Do you want to hear it?"

He wants to hear it. It's not only kindness or the excessive tiredness preventing him from standing, he really wants to hear it. He needs to hear it. Even if he doesn't know why.

A simple nod. He can't remember when he spoke last time.

"As I was saying he was a doctor, he worked here in our hospital. He was said to be a special person, one of those who passes here very very rarely. His eyes, the things people use to say about them…people who have known him say that in his eyes laid infinity. Sure, I don't know what this sentence means but…"

----

_Javor's not a real friend. But he's funny and kind. With him, it's simple to forget about the war._

_Javor, red hair, freckles, grey eyes. And a never-ending fantasy._

_Javor, storyteller._

"_And, then, he looked at them, I swear it, he just stared at them with these eyes of his and, I swear guys, they understood everything. They sped up their truck and left immediately. And they were cetniks…cetniks can you understand me? Mean, terrible, cruel, dangerous, armed cetniks and it took only a simple sight, only one sight…but, you know, who can survive Luka's patented glances?"_

_A burst of laughter, all the way to similar to a machine gun discharge._

_Embarrassed voice: "As usual, Javor is a little bit exaggerating. I don't have the power to make people run away, with my sight then"_

_Eyes fixed on him. Then quick glances from one to the other. And at the end, Javor again: "Luka, in your eyes lays infinity"_

_----_

The lady is thinking, silently. Her story is over, even if she didn't notice that Luka isn't listening to her anymore. She sighs; she can imagine that young man. She thinks she'd like to meet him. The strangest thing is that it has been a while since she thought at that story, but that day it has come suddenly to her mind.

It's Vukovar, of course it is. Vukovar which works silently inside of you, Vukovar and all its memories.

Vukovar, a single word, which contains a universe.

"People still talk about that guy, you know? And we all love him a little. I don't know if he has really existed, but it's beautiful knowing that someone could have given the strength at Vukovar…Luka"

Luka raises his head and stares at her.

"Luka. That was his name", she gets silent while staring at him. It's a long moment. No one talks. She instinctively recognizes him. Luka, with his infinite eyes. She can't be wrong.

"Now I know", her voice is a little hoarse, "I know what drowning into someone else's eyes means. I know, it's like going mad but remaining sane at the same time. Your eyes…"

Silence. Luka feels unreal.

The lady makes a little smile, the smile of someone who knows everything: "Welcome back. Welcome back, Luka. Vukovar was waiting for you"

Then she stands, and a little clumsy on her legs walks away.

And Luka looks at the sky, a single tear on his cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Hello?...Luka…is that you?"

Silence. Her voice. He just wants to hear her talking. The lump in his throat is going up and down. Her voice.

"Luka, talk to me, please"

He can't. He isn't able anymore. He can neither breathe properly. Her voice. Her beautiful voice.

"Ok, so…mmmm…I'm good, well…I miss you…and Joe…he's good too…he's saying his first words by now…and…I know, I know he could talk also when you left but…mmmm…Luka"

Nothing. He's paralyzed, eternally divided between two different lives. Who is he? Who is he now? And what has he been? Outside the window Vukovar is still observing him, mute. It's a trap, Vukovar. Why did it happen to him? Why, Vukovar, why? Living divided is like not existing, it's like not being. He is not, but Abby's voice pronouncing his name remembers him that he is. It hasn't any sense, it can't have it. There's no solution.

"…well, today Joe said, he said tata…"

----

"_Tata!"_

"_Oh my God! Does she say.. she say?", confused yet hopeful glances. "She said…", he would have never expected to lose courage in a moment so beautiful. He couldn't have even imagined to need courage in such moment._

"_Yeah, Luka, you're Jasna's first word…are you happy?"_

"_My princess…", he never felt that way. His baby girl. Her first word. Her innocent eyes are staring at him. It's a pact. He'll be hers forever. Forever. Tata. All the meanings of the world in four simple letters. Jasna and her tata. For all their life._

_----_

"I…Luka, could you tell me something? I know it's hard…I've tried to understand your reasons and maybe I'm succeeding, but I need you to help me…I need you…please"

He's broken, Luka, his heart shattered into countless pieces. He can't speak and he can't stop crying. Crying and hurting. Crying and hurting. These are the only things he has been doing since he arrived in Vukovar. These are the only things he can connect to Vukovar. Tears. And pain. And desperation. And death. And how is he supposed to talk to Abby from that atrocious place considering she has always meant joy and happiness to him?

His sobs reach her through the receiver. They are far away, an ocean between them, but they seem so terribly close. Abby has never felt so strong the need to hold him.

"Luka…I'd really wish I were there…Luka, please, say something…"

Her pleading. So desperate. So real. He's hating himself more and more, Luka. He lost the number of the people who suffered because of him.

----

"_But dad…"_

"_Viktor, please, stop it. It's better this way, trust me"_

"_Let him leave?"_

_He's listening to things he's not supposed to hear but he can't help it. The brick wall is cold against his back. Air is full of humidity. The sea incessantly noisy._

_Winter and sea. His sadness._

_The wind starts to blow. He's shivering in the sudden cold. He's happy about it. Leaving…_

"_Can't you see it? We can't help him"_

"_He doesn't want to be helped"_

"_Can you blame him?"_

_Silence. Luka stares at the clouds passing in the sky. Help him. As if it was worth, as if the things could change, as if they could ever come back._

_He gulps. Where has his life gone? Why him? Why Vukovar?_

"_You're only able to defend him, your poor baby. The point is that you are not less coward than him"_

_Luka hears distinctively the slap on his brother's cheek. He'd like to - and he knows he should - feel something, but he's not more than a void wrapping._

_He looks at the sea. Those waves are more alive than him._

_----_

He falls to the ground, noticing only partially its hardness. He closes his eyes. He sees their slaughtered bodies. His eyes spring open.

Abby's voice is too far away. He grips more forcefully the receiver, but his fingers are clumsy.

Her voice more and more far away.

The lump in his throat.

Their slaughtered bodies.

Terror and desperation.

The receiver slips away.

Vukovar is laughing at him.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks to all the people who are reading my story._

6.

The automatic doors open and close. They're new, modern, with a shiny and clean Plexiglas.

Opened. Closed. Perfectly working. The sight is disturbing compared to what he has expected. But why not? Years pass, things change, things are forgotten. Modernity makes progress. He is the problem. He is always the problem. A trapped man.

Opened. Closed.

People are walking in and out, almost peaceful while lost in their own preoccupation. People forget, people move on, people weren't even there.

Opened. Closed. Hypnotizing.

----

_BOOOOMMM!!!  
"Damn! That one was really close!"_

"_Don't they know this is a hospital?", angry and disappointed tone._

"_They know, they know", Luka. His tone is bitter, instead._

"_Doctor, we need you!"_

_Quick run through the ward. Slalom among gurneys. Hurting man, opened abdomen, blood. Plink, plink, drops on the floor._

_That man needs something that isn't there. That man needs a miracle._

"_Ok, we can try to stabilize him at least", Luka's voice is already defeated. On the man's wedding finger there's a gold band. Somewhere, in Vukovar, another widow is going to born._

"_Dr Kovac, he lost too much blood"_

_Plink, plink…_

"_We can…" _

_BOOOMMMM!!!_

_Lights go suddenly out. Darkness. The only light is coming from the flames devastating a near building._

_The harmed man is still, eyes shut. The weeding band seems too shiny. It hurts if you look at it. Luka blinks. He doesn't want to look at his own left hand. He sighs. It will never end._

"_Time of death…"_

_----_

Opened. Closed. Opened. Closed. A lot of people. Something you can't really imagined.

A step. Another one. The doors open again. For him this time. For him, it's his turn.

He's inside now. Everything has changed, everything is new, but he can't still see lost traces of old times. He can still see himself in that place. And it hurts, it hurts a lot.

A very cute desk clerk is smiling warmly at him: "Are you looking for someone?"

He shakes his head. He walks toward the waiting room. Typical chairs made in hard plastic. All around him perfection, cleanliness. Aseptic environment. There's no sense. He leans against the back of the chair. He breathes slowly. In front of him a doctor is flirting with a nurse. It's all so banal and obvious. His head starts pounding. He closes his eyes.

----

_He wants to open his eyes, but he can't. He can't understand. Something is happening, he can hear a lot of confused and scared voices. Sam, one of them belongs to Sam. And the other ones? He's paralyzed. He can't even breathe. The air, the air is leaving his lungs, he can feel them becoming deflated and he can't stop it. He's choking, he's choking and he can't move, his diaphragm blocked, he's going to die and what a stupid death is going to be when…oxygen finally. Someone is bagging him. Sam. He can hear her voice. She's stroking his hair, trying to soothing him._

"_He needs to be intubated"_

_The tube going down his throat is tremendous, it's scratching his trachea, it's almost more suffocating than the lack of air. Time is passing slowly. He decides on concentrating on breathing. He hears some shots. Abby? Where will she be? He prays she is safe._

_Finally he can open his eyes. Darkness. He can move again a little. He turns his head. Right, left, right again. Abby. He can see her through the door, she is ok, she seems to be ok. He starts feeling relieved but suddenly…what's on her hand? Blood? Oh God, no, no, no, she's passing out, oh God, someone helps her, she needs help, someone…_

_----_

His eyes spring open. Cold sweat is running down his spine. He's shaking. That's not Chicago, that's Vukovar. Vukovar. He laughs bitterly, as if things could be better. Chicago, Vukovar…one way ticket, maybe. A week and things are still the same. A week and he feels only worse.

Someone suddenly appears in front of him. A doctor. His eyes are full of understanding. As if he knew everything. It's kind of weird.

"Needing help?"

He shakes his head no. Nobody can help him, nobody. His eyes are stinging with tears. Again. The things he thought could be in the hospital aren't there. He can see only cleanness and modernity. As if someone took away all memories with a rag.

He stands, exhausted. His head is spinning, but he can keep his balance.

He starts walking, defeated. It's too early to come back to his hotel room. There's too much to think in that lonely room. And the telephone on the nightstand hurts him too much.

"We have a plate, in the garden. It's not much, but it helps remembering"

It's the same doctor he talked to him a while ago. Apparently he hasn't said a word, his eyes fixed on a chart, but Luka knows he has spoken to him.

He turns around quickly. For less than a second the doctor raises his eyes from the chart, meeting Luka's sight. Less than a second. But it's enough. He knows.

Luka leaves. The garden is simple. On the trees the first blossoms are opening. Life goes on, even there, even in Vukovar. It's a thought that hurts him a little.

The plate is few meters away. A sigh. Another one. Finding the strength to walk seems something impossible.

Courage, all that names had it. It's time for him to find it too.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks to Nina at TDWD who helped me with the croatian translation.

7.

"_Neka im Dragi Bog _

_da da spavaju na _

_krilima andela"_

He knew it. But he can't believe it. It's simply not possible. Among the millionth existing phrases they picked up that one. The only one which means so much to him.

Memories, memories. Vukovar in Chicago and Chicago in Vukovar. Hospitals and coworkers so similar. Life is a circle. Everything repeats itself. Always.

----

"_Shouldn't we say something?"_

_Happy place, shocking coloured cocktails. His own, it's in a fluorescent green._

_The people seated at that table are neither laughing nor joking._

_The people seated at that table have sadness as company._

_Sadness. And Mark._

_Mark, who believed it._

_Mark, with his new and happy life._

_Mark, unique true heart of their ER._

_Silence._

_And then, Luka. His voice, coming from far away._

"_Neka mu Dragi Bog da da spava na krilu andela"_

_----_

And right now, one more time again.

The same sentence, with tons of different memories.

He touches the plate. It's cold, lifeless. The engraved names impress themselves into his palm, into his heart. He looks quickly at the list. He doesn't want to read. Reading means admitting. But that is the purpose of his visit, isn't it?

Dusan Kovacevic, MD.

Dusan, eternally serious and neat. Dusan, who never joked.

Valerija Kostelic, MD.

What a smile, Valerija. As bright as sun reflexes on the sea. Valerija, endlessly in love with Dusan.

Sanija Simic, MD.

Sanija, the moody one. Sanija, so able to get angry at you for no reason.

Janko Pavic, MD.

Janko, the Chief of the Staff. Janko, with his fatherly eyes and his warm smile. Janko who loved Luka as a child. Janko, who saved his life.

Ratko Savic, MD.

Ratko, the lazy one. Ratko, never there when you needed him most. Ratko, and his bets on soccer matches.

Lavinija Mesic, nurse.

Lavinija, the clever one. Lavinija, the sensitive one. Lavinija, the perfect listener among all them.

Nina Boban, nurse.

Nina, always late. Nina, always running trough wards. Nina, so shy she can easily go unnoticed.

And all the other names, eternally impressed on the shiny metal. Names which had a face, names which spoke, laughed, interacted with him. Months spent with them, months, speaking about the future. And now, their future is nothing more than a cold plate. A plate, and someone who can remember them. Someone who can associate a face or a smile or an expression to those names. Someone. Luka. He's unreal, Luka, while putting his forehead on his left hand with his right hand still placed against the plate. He cries, sobs, his body shaken, he cries for all these names, these names which mean so much to him. Names of people swallowed by Vukovar, cold heartless town.

He doesn't know how much time is passing, but he can't move, he just wants to stay like this, greeting all these names, homaging them, feeling that they are answering him. He can almost hear their voices, as if nothing has ever happened.

----

"_I might say every year we're very lucky with the new students", ironical tone, Sanija. She is always disagreeing._

"_Of course, you're always so optimistic", Valerija, eternally on the bright side of things._

"_What are you looking at?", Ratko, completely clueless as usual._

"_Our new students"_

"_Oh my God, we're still recovering from the fantastic duo Kovac - Kovacevic from last year!"_

"_I like Luka"_

"_How can you be blamed, Lavinija? Everyone likes Luka", Sanija replies._

_Nina, from her corner, is only able to blush._

"_Ok, you're right…but Dusan, too, he's not that bad"_

"_Of course, Valerija, of course"_

"_Guys, I know you like cruelly judging students, but don't you think it is better going to work?", Dr Pavic, as usual, comes to establish order again. He's not angry. He loves his guys. He has no sons and he has found a bunch of them in his ER. "Nina, please, go to help Dr Kovac in Suture Room"_

"_I knew it. That Nina one, she plays the shy one so she can have the best occasions…"_

"_Sanija, you're always the same"_

_----_

He's still crying, Luka. He's crying because of all those meaningless chats, because no-one among them knew what life had in store for them, because laughing and having fun was everything which mattered. Because life, during those far away days, was beautiful and easy, because if they had known, if they had known…

But maybe it has been better this way. It has been better being able to imagine a future, a family, children, journeys, loves, passions, to imagine life.

----

"_And in ten years, how do you imagine yourself in ten years?"_

"_Happy"_

"_Happy"_

"_Realised"_

"_With a wife and a two or three__ children"_

"_In love and beloved"_

"_Happy"_

_----_

Of course, happy. Happy. Among the thousandth possibilities no one picked up dead. Dead. Dead in an absurd and unpredictable way. Dead, after a long series of suffering. Dead, because of an ethnic. Dead.

Luka lets himself kneel on the ground, in front of the plate. It's still cold under his palm, and the cold is penetrating his body. Mortal cold, gravestone cold. Cold of people who will never be able to get warm again.

Tears are still soaking his cheeks, his shoulders shaken by noisy sobs.

A hand on his shoulder. The doctor from a while ago. The doctor who knows:

"For you", a simple white candle, its wax a little consumed and ruined. The dark candlestick contrasts vividly with the whiteness of the candle.

His hand is trembling while putting the candle in front of the plate.

Match, little flame. The wick starts immediately to burn. The flame dances lightly in front of his eyes. It's yellow, red, orange. Living flame. On the plate, warm flashes.

"It's over"

Eyes shut, last sobs in his throat. A little nod. Inexorability. End. Destiny.

"You must have loved them so much. I'm sure they loved you a lot"

He turns back, Luka, his sea-green eyes still wet with tears. He's incredulous. That doctor knows too many things.

"They must be happy now. You greeted them, told them adieu"

Silence.

The doctor smiles a little, his lips slightly curved.

"Your eyes…I can see the destiny in them. And even if you can't understand my words, they have a sense for me. And for Vukovar, too"

Then, he goes away.

Luka stands with a little difficulty. He stares at the candle and then at the plate. He can still hear his friends' laughter.

Relieved is still too much, but maybe he's feeling a little better. Maybe he has won the first round.

-.-.-.-.-.

_Neka mu Dragi Bog da da spava na krilu andela: May the Dear Lord make him sleep on the wings of angels_


	8. Chapter 8

8.

The web is dancing lightly with the wind blowing softly through the opened window.

Luka's staring at it, wondering if there is any difference between it and himself. He thinks no. The two of them just let themselves be moved around by things. They're defenceless, they have no reactions. Forceless, powerless, lifeless.

The mattress is hard and uncomfortable, impregnated with a heavy odour of naphthalene. Sadness above sadness.

It's still night, out there, and he's still unable to sleep.

The remaining of his dinner, or better his full dinner, lies forgotten on its ordinary tray. He can't sleep, he can't eat. He's letting himself be carried. Vukovar's going to take him.

He shifts, sighing. His back hurts, his muscles are drained because of the lack of sleep. Old scars are painfully itching. His lips are dry, cracked. His eyes red. Almost ten days in Vukovar and he feels like a corpse.

The mattress is hard. He's not going to sleep.

----

_Grass is soft under his back. Sky has the identical blue of his young eyes._

"_I'll be__ a great doctor"_

_Danijela, seated next to him, laughs quietly. "Till yesterday you didn't even know if Medicine was the right choice", she doesn't care, of course. She loves him, she only needs him to stay with her. Nothing else._

"_I'm glad to know you're supporting me"_

_Luka puts one of his hands on her back, stroking gently the long delicate curve of her spine. She's perfect, beautiful. And she's his._

_She turns and stares at him lovingly. While turning, her shirt slips down revealing a white shoulder. Far away, some children are playing. And Luka is sure that he's living the most beautiful day of his life. He's happy, he's whole. And he'll remember forever that day: The day he decided to become a doctor. That day, unforgettable, like Danijela's white and exciting shoulder. Unforgettable. And perfect._

_----_

He stands and grabs a cigarette.

He lights it slowly, pensively. He inhales. The smoke goes down into his lungs. He coughs a couple of times. He inhales again. He coughs again. He stares at the cigarette. It's burning itself out slowly. Weird analogy with his life. Suddenly, he's scared. He puts it out. He throws it away.

The stars. Sky is so full of stars during that strange night. Vukovar can be terrifying and terrific at the same time. Vukovar, true mean queen who scares and fascinates all her subjects. Love and hate. Repulsion and passion. Vukovar.

The stars. Millionths of them.

----

"_Look, Lu'! A falling star!"_

_Abby raises just slightly her head from his chest to take a better look. Her rounded belly is pressed sweetly against his hip._

"_I thought you were sleeping"_

"_Nah, your son is still playing with my bladder"_

_Luka grins. His son. He still can't believe it._

"_Make a wish"_

_He doesn't speak, exhausted. The following morning he's going to have an early morning shift, and then a boring meeting with Kerry and Anspaugh. His eyes are falling shut._

"_Hey, I'm waiting for an answer!", Abby pinches his arm, her voice laughing._

"_Mmmm…I wish…I wish…you fell asleep right here, right now"_

_She laughs and pinches him again._

"_Very funny, dr Kovac…you know your wish isn't going to become true, don't you?"_

"_I had a premonition about that…"_

_He looks at her. He strokes her cheek. She's beautiful, her cheek a little puffy, her skin shiny, her smile sweet._

_When all your wishes have become true, for whom do stars fall?_

_He follows her neck with a finger. She shivers slightly. They are staring at each other. Passion, love, the two of them. And a baby. Maybe they are not in need of stars anymore._

_----_

What a stupid he has been. Stop dreaming is like stop believing. Stars. Of course, he still needs them.

There's Abby in Chicago. A star for her, wishing she could sleep well without him.

There's his father in Croatia. A star for him, wishing he could stop worrying about him.

There's his brother in Croatia, too. A star for him, wishing he could understand why he left his homeland.

There's Joe, asleep in a warm and cozy crib. A star for him, who has a whole life ahead.

And there's him. Still in front of that window in Vukovar. A star for him, wishing he could be able to forgive himself, wishing he could understand, wishing he could remember, wishing he could be able to come back again.

And there's Vukovar, at the end. A star for her, wishing she could stop torturing him.

For whom do stars fall, when all your wishes have become true?

For whom? Luka wishes only it wasn't too late.


	9. Chapter 9

_This chapter is for Lavinia, who gave me the right suggestion. Grazie!_

9.

The familiar smell makes his head spin.

A family, on his left. Mom, dad and a five-year-old son. Everything normal. Everything obvious. Everything expected. Joyful glances, laughter. A happy family.

Usual bench in the usual park. Usual sun which starts to warm. Usual melancholic and abandoned Luka. Usual menacing Vukovar. Immobility.

But it's the smell which is disturbing his thoughts. The smell.

----

"_Luka, you're going to burn the meat…"_

"_That's not true!"_

_Doubtful glance, a well-knowingly glance. Every woman owns such similar glance. It's the glance every single woman's going to use with her husband. Men, they know nothing._

"_Dani, just stop it! I've been grilling cevapcici since I was a kid"_

"_You mean you looked at your father doing it"_

_He turns, offended. In that moment Marko starts wailing. Danijela goes to him. Luka can't hide his satisfaction. The grill is his own business. Just like cars, electronics and soccer games. Obvious, expected. Men and women. Immobile evolution._

_----_

They're eating now, as if they didn't care about the whole world. And it's probably true. Happy people are always a little weird, a little far away from reality.

----

"_Luka, we're going to catch a cold!"_

"_C__'mon, you know it's only an old-wives tale"_

_Imploring glance. Luka, who's able to speak without saying a word. How is she supposed to resist him?_

"_Ok, but this is the first and the last time I'll do such things"_

_Abby steps closer to him. Large raindrops are marking her coat and pants, she feels them soaking her hair. And yet…holding him, under the rain, she has never felt so happy._

_Luka, her crazy boyfriend._

_----_

Luka reflects.

Happiness, what a weird thing. Happiness which hits you when you last expect it. Happiness is a camp fire, three people and some meat to roast.

----

"_What the heck are those things?"_

"_Alex!"_

_Luka smiles. He likes Alex and his not-so-well-mannered behaviour. Just like him when he was a child._

"_They're cevapcici"_

"_Ce… what?"_

"_Cevapcici. Meat to roast"_

"_Ah, like spits"_

_The spell of exotic already gone. Like spits. As if it was enough to explain what cevapcici mean to Luka. Culture, homeland, love, habitude, life._

_Like spits. Everything thrown away by two simple words. Like spits._

_----_

It's so strange. How many lives Luka has lived. How many stops and how many occasions. But he knew, he knew Vukovar was there for him.

Vukovar, the start of the end, his prime trauma. Vukovar, a piece of his heart.

He raises his knees, putting the feet on the bench. He encircles the knees with his arms and puts his head on them. Defence position. He's trying to protect himself from the whole world.

He's alone, and deadly scared. All that open space, he can be assaulted from everywhere.

----

"_You never fall asleep by giving your back to the window"_

_While speaking, Abby's following Luka's strong profile. Cheekbones, browns, nose, lips, chin. It's a soft touch, a sweet caress. Luka's on the verge of sleep, but he wants to answer her first._

"_I don't like the idea"_

_And he stops. His eyes are closed. She stares at his long and dark lashes. She can't help wondering for the millionth time what Luka is hiding from her. What can scare him so much?_

_----_

He's nervous.

The father's looking at him with curiosity. He couldn't help but notice that stranger staring at his wife and child. Now, he's trying to understand if Luka could be a danger.

Luka stands. He doesn't want to add problems to problems. Last trace of sweet cevapcici smell reaches his nostrils. He sways a little. He takes a deep breath. The other man's still fixing him, his lips pursued.

Luka steps away.

There are no solutions.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: This story was originally written for one of my friends. In Italy we're still waiting to see Season 13 and she's completely spoiler free, so I couldn't put Ames in my story. So, I need to make a little change. Hope you like it._

10.

He's crying. At the top of his lungs.

----

"_It's a good sign, isn't it? It means he's ok…"_

_Abby is full of hope. It's a little weird, though, she has never been too optimistic. Maybe it's her new maternal side._

"_Well, if he go on screaming like that, we'll send him home soon"_

_Smiles._

_----_

He can't stop screaming. He goes on again and again. No one can hear him. No one can help him. He's alone, so desperately alone. But there's no one to blame but him.

He's trying to move now, his scream less audible, nothing more than a painful moaning.

----

"_He looks like he's falling asleep"_

"_I hope so. I've been cuddling him for more than an hour…if only I think that Jasna used to get asleep immediately…"_

"_You know…Marko has his own character"_

"_Yeah, just like his father"_

_Glances. Their lips curve slightly._

_Love._

_Affection._

_Comprehension._

_And pride._

_His baby. His character. Who knows when he'll be a teenager._

_----_

A deep breath. Another one. He mustn't think at the pain. He breathes again. The pain is running through his fingers. Acute and pulsating pain through his long fingers. So perfect. And precise.

He opens his eyes, his breathe still harsh. His stomach is contracting, cold sweat is running down his temples. His hand is trembling.

He raises it, a grimace drawn on his pale feature. On his finger, right above the phalanx, he can see the bruise left by the wooden-metal window shutter. The skin is bruised and swelled. Purple and blue patches are opening out like tropical flowers.

What a stupid he has been. He knew from the start that window was a danger, some days before he has already risked to hurt himself. But, during that afternoon, he has leant against it without thinking and…crushed his fingers. Stupid, stupid and stupid again.

He stands slowly and heads towards the bathroom. He opens the faucet with his left hand, only a little conscious of the awkwardness of the movement. Frozen water. He's a little relieved. He looks again at the hand. It's still pulsating. And it hurts. It really hurts.

He didn't need it. How can he find the strength to see a doctor? How can he find the strength to explain? Explaining it has been an accident, of course, but, maybe, that opened window and the hidden desire to feel something, even physical pain, only to forget, just for a while, the psychological and mental pain he's suffering in Vukovar? How can he find the strength to do exams, X-rays and follow medical advices?

How, when it all means he has to come back to that hospital and feeling again the weight of that cold plate?

He's still staring at his hand, looking for a rational solution. Right hand swollen up and hurting. And he's not a lefty, oh no.

----

"_One day you're going to explain me why a doctor, a person who's supposed to have perfect manual skills, is so unable in using his left hand", Abby's looking at him laughing, while he's struggling to open the closed packaging._

"_Are you deny that this thing fascinates you?", he's openly flirting now. As if she hasn't already surrendered months - no years - ago to him. Though she feels herself blushing. The tone he used. At that precise moment she can't help but think at all the things he can __not __do with his left hand while they're all alone in their bedroom._

_----_

He closes the faucet with the same difficulty he needed to open it.

He walks towards the bed. As usual, Vukovar is out there. He has even begun to love its grey and brown profile.

He tries slowly to bend his fingers. Bad move. And it's really a bad move when only the simple idea of movement makes your lips grimace in anticipation. The brain telling you what you have already discovered: it's broken, buddy, your graceful fingers momentary on holidays. See you in about forty days.

What now? Luka knows what he has to do. He can even picture himself doing it, but he can't do it.

Frustration tears are soaking his cheeks. He hates himself. And now the hand, another punishment. He left them under the debris, he left his father, his family, his friends, the numerous hospitals where he worked, he left Patrique in Congo in a sense, leaving him alone in front of an inevitable destiny, but above all he left Abby in Chicago. And Joe, an innocent baby.

He's a monster, he doesn't deserve happiness, he only deserves pain and pain and pain.

He knows what he's supposed to do, but he won't do it.

Rationality adieu.

He lies down on the bed, the hand a living and pulsating appendix.

He closes his eyes listening to the pain which, in waves, is penetrating his brain.

There, he won't move.

Pain, everything he deserves.


	11. Chapter 11

11.

Sweated and humid sheets.

Shifting body, full of pain.

The moon outside, which is enlightening the room.

He hasn't sleep, Luka, since he lay down a few hours before. He thinks and he suffers.

Insomnia mixed with pain. How much time can a man resist without sleeping?

----

"_Wow…have I slept for centuries?"_

_Her voice is full of enthusiasm and a soft trace of sleep. Luka raises the eyes from a still unfinished crib._

"_It's not finished yet"_

"_It's beautiful"_

_Yellow walls, light brown furniture, a couch. Their baby's bedroom._

"_How's insomnia?"_

_He passes a hand through his hair. As if he wanted to make all bad thoughts go away. He sits next to her. She's so beautiful. He doesn't want to think at his insomnia anymore. He puts his head on her enlarged belly. The baby is kicking. He's no more tired. He feels alive._

_----_

He gets up, finding useless trying to sleep. His head is spinning, his knees are weak. Suddenly, he's sick again. He reaches the bathroom. Probably this is the room where he has spent most of his Vukovar time. He's really in a bad shape. Why couldn't he stay in Chicago with Abby, why has he decided on Vukovar?

----

"_Vukovar has one of the most qualified Emergency Room and I might add it is a culturally valuable town"_

"_Culturally valuable town? Dad, have you eaten a tourist guide of Vukovar?"_

"_What are you scared of?"_

_Silence._

"_I've a wife, a daughter…what if did something go wrong?"_

_The older man puts a hand on his shoulder's shoulder. He's so proud of that son so ready to start living his own life._

"_Risk…risk is everywhere, baby. The important thing is not letting it overcome you"_

_----_

He's seated on the floor, his back against the tub, his sweaty body shaken by shivers. Broken fingers, infection.

The point is how much pain he thinks he deserves. Suffering till dying? Or stopping a little bit sooner? All the dues he has paid - because he has already paid - have still a meaning or are they senseless by now?

---

"_And I don't give a damn!"_

"_But…"_

"_Marta, shut up. I don't even want to see him again"_

"_You used to consider him one of your own children"_

"_It was before he killed my daughter and my grandchildren"_

_Viktor jumped up suddenly. In a second, Tomislav is held against the wall._

"_Don't even dare to say it again…you know it isn't true. Luka, he didn't kill anyone"_

_Curled on his - their - bed in the other room, Luka can't help but listen. His father's words are useless. Honestly even Tomislav's words are useless. There's no need to specify that he's guilty. He already knows._

_Guilty._

_Guilty._

_Guilty._

_He'll be forever guilty._

_Three smiles lost in the wind._

_Three lives, three lives he loved so much._

_Three, perfect number of his desperation._

_Three._

_----_

Suffering till dying? And all the things he has realized later? The effort he made, the fights he fought, the victories…

----

_Peaceful night, two bodies entangled. Soft skin brushing soft skin._

_Luka, lazily, is stroking her shoulder._

_Dark liquid coil eyes are staring at him._

"_I love you, Luka"_

_Luka's hand leaves her shoulder to reach her cheek and then her full lips. He stares at her and at her shiny eyes. She loves him. Does something more amazing exist?_

_----_

Suffering till dying?

Maybe it's not the case. And maybe it is neither fair.

All the things he suffered, and the things he's going to suffer must be enough.

They'll be enough.

Because Abby believed it.

Abby listened to him.

Abby trusted him.

Suffering till dying?

No, it's not the case. Welcome back rationality.

He stands carefully, trying to protect the hand.

He steps towards the door.

He doesn't stop thinking.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

It is easier said than done.

It is easier said than done.

It is easier said than done.

Still. Shivering. Confused.

In front of that glassy and clean Plexiglas. He can't move. It seems a nightmare to him. The building is surrounded by the early morning light. And this is scaring him. He stands still. He can't. His body still shaken by shivers.

"Wow…what a bad wound…I think you should enter"

The usual doctor. His voice, like balm on Luka's wound.

Luka looks at him hallucinated.

"I won't hurt you. You can trust me"

The doctor stretches his hand out. Luka hesitates. Confidence. Wasn't Danijela's confidence which made him decide on Vukovar? What now?

Two seconds pass. Two seconds only, but they seem to be incredibly long. Then, Luka grabs the doctor's hand, as if his life was depending on it.

They enter. Luka's looking the floor. He feels embarrassed, he's scared, and he feels like a fool. What is he doing there? As a patient, besides.

"Don't worry. Everything's going to be ok"

Empty end isolated room. Silence. Luka sits on the bed without stopping trembling. His mind is more and more confused.

----

_He's hot. But he's cold too. By now, he doesn't even have the strength to wonder how this can be possible. His knees are hurting. Under the left one there's a pointed stone which is torturing his kneecap._

_Shootings._

_Screams._

_Heartbreaking pleas._

_And his shudders._

_He's dying, he is sure._

_Finally._

_----_

"You need an x-ray"

Alarmed glance.

"Don't worry, I'll use a portable machine…no one is going to enter this room"

The doctor leaves and comes back with the device.

He's moving around quietly. As if he wanted to calm Luka.

"I'm giving you a shoot of morphine, at least you'll feel less pain"

Luka observes carefully the syringe, his eyes wide. The liquid is injected slowly. The effect is immediate. His head is lighter now, but it's a good sensation. His hand has stopped throbbing. He sits more comfortably and, without noticing, closes his eyes.

Relief, finally.

----

"_Are you ok? You're acting weird tonight"_

"_I'm ok…and I'm not acting weird", while saying it, the napkin falls from his knees. He bends to pick it up. When he stands again, her blue eyes are shining mischievously. She knows. At first he starts blaming her sixth sense, but then he gives up: how can he get angry at someone who has that smile and those lips?_

"_Danijela…", he takes a deep breath, "…would you marry me?"_

"_I would", she answers simply. _

_----_

His eyes spring open.

He looks around.

White room, a hospital.

----

"_How long have I been sleeping?"_

"_About thirty minutes. Baby gang shooting. ETA 10 minutes"_

"_Thanks Haleh"_

_He stands trying to wake up. He stirs and yawns. He's getting too old for graveyard shifts._

"_Dr Kovac…?"_

_----_

"Are you feeling better?"

Fixed glance, a friendly smile.

His hand in a white sling. No pain.

"I left you sleep while working on your hand…you seemed so exhausted"

The doctor is speaking to him while cleaning the room.

He take off the gloves.

Bin.

He reaches the sink. He opens the faucet and starts washing his hands. Luka stares at his slightly curved back. The movement of his shoulders is almost hypnotizing.

"You know, I should be amazed you aren't saying a word, but it seems a normal thing to me. Probably you have your reasons to stay silent…but it doesn't mean you don't deserve to be helped if you need it. So…"

He steps closer to Luka, who's still watching him carefully. He's more lucid now.

"…the fingers are broken, they needed to be splinted. Nothing too serious by the way…there was a little infection so I cleaned the wound. Your fever broke, and I gave you a litre of saline. Dehydratation is not good for organism"

Luka is a bit shocked. He realizes that doctor is the person who has given him more help since he arrived in Vukovar. He'd like to thank him, but tears are soaking again his cheeks. Far worse than a little girl.

"Don't worry…everything will work out. I promise you. Now I have to discharge you. Can you stand?"

Luka tries. His knees are still fable, but they seem to work.

"Good, good. Here you have some painkillers and antibiotics", he's giving him a package.

"Splint will be removed in six weeks. I can remove it…if you'll be still there…"

Six weeks seem to be an eternity to Luka. Six week, forty-two days. How can he know what it will happen in sex weeks?

Silence.

Door.

No one sees, no one has seen. Light and mute passage. Like a ghost. As if he never existed.

"Good luck, boy. Take care of yourself"

Luka doesn't turn, but he lets the doctor's words reach his soul.

Good luck. He really needs all the luck he can find to go where he's going to go.

Because there's only one place left.

Because that is the reason of his trip.

Vukovar, it's the setting of accounts.


	13. Chapter 13

13.

It's the moment.

The moment he was so scared of, the moment which never leaves him alone, even during sleep.

----

_He wakes with a start, his forehead soaked in sweat, his heart beating furiously._

"_Hey, are you ok?"_

_Abby's looking at him, a worried expression on her face. She's leaning against the threshold, Joe sleeping peacefully in her arms._

"_Yeah…", he gulps, "a nightmare, it was just a nightmare"_

_----_

A man, in front of the destiny. Last settling of accounts, the definitive one.

Sun is warming his back. Sun. Weird thing, he would have never expected sun during that day. Rain, cold, they would have been more obvious. One more time, Vukovar has been able to confuse him. Sun, warm on his shoulders, and appalling cold which is invading him.

He's keeping his sight fixed in front of him, watching the shiny and cured stone for the first time.

Coloured flowers are adorning it.

He doesn't even stop thinking at who could have done it, he doesn't want to think at it. It would be like underlining all his faults. And at this point he's sick and tired of his faults. At this point he just feels the need to concentrate on the cold stone erected in front of him.

Three names, of course.

Three simple names, two of them with the same family name, two of them sharing with him more than a simple family name.

Jasna Kovac, four years.

----

"_It's a girl!"_

_The little baby is crying, her face all red._

"_How__ are we going to name her?"_

"_Jasna…Jasna Kovac"_

_----_

Marko Kovac, eighteen months.

----

"_Oh, look at his black hair"_

"_What a beautiful baby boy!"_

"_Marko, like Danijela's grandfather"_

"_Marko Kovac, I like it"_

_----_

Danijela Barac, wife of Luka Kovac.

----

"_I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride"_

_Luka bends slowly towards Danijela. She's beautiful, the simple white dress is underlining perfectly her slender body._

_Till death do them part. As if the idea of death could touch you when you're twenty-one and you're getting married._

_Till death do you part, when you're twenty-one, under the warm sun, with the sound of the waves, tastes like eternity._

_----_

Cold, grey stone. Also that stone tastes like eternity, but in a completely different and terrible way. This isn't how it was supposed to be.

He kneels in front of destiny, eyes closed, head bent. Sun is giving playful and happy reflexes to his hair.

His left hand is holding three roses. The stems are making his palm sweat but he doesn't notice.

He sighs.

He puts the flowers down.

He picks one up, a red bud. Its red is dark and gloomy, similar to coagulated blood.

He puts it on the grave.

He sighs again.

Time. Time was everything they didn't have. Not love, passion, trust. Time. No one could have predicted it. But would have it been right to predict it? Maybe, they'd have lost spontaneity, their eyes always fixed on the clock separating them from that atrocious moment. Time. Tic toc, tic toc.

He looks again at the rose. Danijela's favourite flower. The one he brought stands for the millionth he should have brought her during years, the millionth which should have been already there on that grave. Almost sixteen years and a constant thought. Conjugal absences. A husband, he was her husband. How could he, how?

If apologies could be an object, they'd be surely that rose of coagulated blood. Danijela, for all have been and for all could have been.

His hand picks another flower.

A pink rose this time, so delicate and soft. Jasna. His princess.

He sees her clearly, her smile, her eyes. She was - she is damn - his daughter. Instinctive and eternal love. Something that can not be explained. His daughter. Into his mind, a baby with long and dark plaits, then a teenager with a too short skirt, then a woman, then a mother. Mind which is drawing perfect and precise images. Images meant to get broken onto the cold stone in front of him. Jasna, forever a four-year-old baby. Jasna, who'll never stop playing with her dolls. Jasna, who'll wait forever for Christmas. Jasna. If Jasna's woman being had a form, it'd be that rose of light and delicate petals. Jasna, future perfect woman. Jasna, pure image of feminity.

Last rose, last gesture, last moment.

White and naïve rose. Marko, with his innocent eyes.

Marko in his high chair while plastering happily food on his face. Marko, so similar to him, Marko and his first stumbling steps. Naïve, happy, funny, his baby. He was more mom's love than his, but beloved past every rational explanation. Marko, and all the chats that are never coming. Marko, and all the advices which he could never listen to. Marko, fixed at the perfect age of eighteen months when the very notion of time is still unknown. Marko, who stopped living even before knowing he was alive. If something could represent the adult relationship between father and son, it'd be that pure rose. Marko, Luka and all the things they could have learnt one from the other.

He's crying, Luka, without noticing it. Because it was the major obstacle, because if he survives he won't have any excuse left, because being there is like dying and getting born again. Because being there means accepting, and understanding.

And he understands that it's the end, the final good-bye, his future is over those lives.

He'll love them forever.

He'll think at them forever.

But they won't annihilate him more. But Vukovar won't torture him more.

He stands slowly, respectful. The roses are standing out, beautiful. They look like a dream image. Everything happens for a reason. Now he knows it for sure.

He looks at the sky. It's almost sunset.

His eyes are back at the grave. The engraved names seem to smile at him, comprehensive.

He smiles a little, too. It's a true smile this time.

"Good-bye. I loved you with all my heart and I still love you. And this won't change. I promise"

He turns and walks away. There's no more time for remorses and regrets.

Light is beautiful, a warm and orange shade.

Light enlightens Vukovar in an enchanted way.

Luka looks around him.

Vukovar has never been more beautiful.


	14. Epilogue

So, this is the end...

I'd like to thank all the people who read my story, and followed me during all these chapters.

A special thank to Lavinia, my unique and wonderful beta-reader.

EPILOGUE

There's no movement and, for the first time, he's perfectly satisfied about the situation. To tell the truth, he is the first one who doesn't want to move, almost afraid to shift. He tries to ignore the soreness in his neck, worried that a simple movement can change what he has been admiring for about an hour into something tragic.

Perfect and enchanted image, which fills his heart with joy. Everything he needs is there, in front of his eyes. All other things are completely senseless.

But, suddenly, there's a movement and it's not that bad. In fact it's infinity better.

Shuddering eyelids, curving lips. Brown eyes into his.

Immediate recognition. Relief. Smile.

"You're back…"

"Yeah…", his voice is more stable now. And he thought he could have lost it.

"I was scared", the admission is difficult for her. She has never been used to speak freely about her feelings.

"I know. I was scared too". He stops, pensive. Admitting to have been scared is too much, he still can't try to reach the heart of the matter. What was he really scared of? Of Vukovar? Of the past? Of that grave? Of himself? Maybe it was a mix of all those things, but by now it's all over. Vukovar, the beautiful and enchanted and charming town seems only a distant point, a macabre yet sweet story to be told to children to make them asleep. Vukovar. The name, like a wind gust, unwraps into his mind. Vukovar.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

"I might say someone is already occupying my place…", he's smiling while answering her. His place occupied by the only person he can tolerate to see there, the only person who has the right to stay there. Joe, his son. His beloved son. His future.

"He missed you…he didn't want to sleep in his crib", Abby's tone is cautious, she's implying other things. Luka knows it, not only Joe missed him, but Abby, too, missed him. And maybe she too didn't want to sleep alone anymore. What would have happened if…?

They fall silent for a while. They have never needed lots of words. They only need a sight, a gesture.

"Are you hungry?"

"No…I think that I need most my bed", and the people who are lying on it, of course.

"We can make room for you, too", a tender smile. She can't wait to have him again at her side, she needs to hold him again, to lose herself into his scent. Delicately, with a movement that only mothers are able to do, Abby moves Joe against her hip. His little head whirls just a little and from his lips comes a little snort. Disapproval. Babies don't like to be awaken during sleep. Luka and Abby stares at him a while, ready to calm him. But nothing happen. Joe curls onto Abby and goes on sleeping.

Luka gets up from the armchair he was seated on and starts undressing. At first the coat and then he bends to unlace the shoes. Abby observes him carefully, fixing firmly the precise movements of her man's muscles, when…

"But, what…?", her voice is alarmed. She's mentally blaming herself: why hasn't she noticed earlier?

"It's nothing…", he's walking next to her in order to open the closet. She grabs his right wrist and lets her fingers move across the sling. He closes his eyes.

"Does it hurt?"

"No more", and he's sincere. Abby's soft fingers are like a soothing balm. The hand stops throbbing. It's in peace now. Like him, like him.

She smiles at him, relieved in a sense. He's there again, alive, there'll be more time later for explanations. She'll be able to wait for the day he'll decide he'll be ready to open up. And he'll explain too what made him leave so suddenly, she knows. But now she doesn't want to think at it. Luka is at home.

"Let me help you"

He sits on the bed near her and lets her take control. Her hands work softly his shirt buttons (he thinks for a while at the huge effort made to button them up) pushing the garment down after a moment. She starts stroking his shoulders and then his arms and then his abdomen, caressing slightly his scar. Luka bends putting his head onto the nape of her neck. How much he missed her skin! He doesn't dare to move, enjoying Abby's hands on his hair and back, drawing lovingly the profile of every single vertebra, as if she was claiming the property of his body.

"You lost weight"

"I know". His warm voice against her neck makes her shiver.

"Don't worry, I'll cook for you"

She can feel him laughing. She takes his face into her hands and obliges him to look into her eye. Forehead against forehead, nose against nose: "Are you laughing at my cooking skills?"

"I'd do it, if there was something to laugh at…"

Silence. They're still staring at each other. Luka's eyes are glistering with tears. Abby kisses his temple and then goes down on his lips.

At first it's a feather-like kiss, as if she needed to remember what kissing him was like, as if she was kissing him for the very first time. Luka doesn't react immediately, he just stays still, enjoying her soft pecks so full of affection and love, but when she deepens the kiss he's eager to respond. They kiss for a long time, their tongues duelling and Abby's hand in his hair. And it's beautiful to discover one another again, as if nothing else in the world existed.

Luka is the one who ends it.

"Thank you"

She kisses him again, this time on the cheekbone. "Tired?"

"Completely drained"

"Let's sleep, then. Though in a while Joe's going to wake up"

"I can't wait…"

Luka has moved, and now he's lying next to the baby. He kisses his head. Joe makes a funny yet sweet face. Luka smiles. His son. "I adore you, baby"

He shifts and encircles all his family with his left hand. It's over, it really is. He has only one thing to do now: living the present. He closes his eyes and an image appears: Danijela, Jasna and Marko are smiling at him, free. Then, finally, after a very long time, a deep, dreamless and resting sleep wraps him. It's over, it really is.

---

So? Loved it? Hated it?


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